


With These Hands

by christinefromsherwood



Series: 007 Fest 2020 [32]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Q Branch is not a sitcom office in this, Some Descriptions of Violence, about the h/c, there's all the comfort you might need, they're good, they're happy, though fairly new, you know me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: The first time it had happened, James thought it was just a coincidence.It might have been bad luck the second, third and fourth time.But to have Q text him about not being able to leave for another couple of hours because of 009 breaking the decontamination shower in Lab 4,justas he was about to head down to Q Branch to pick Q up for their fifth attempt at a date… Well, James Bond didn’t live to retirement age because he ignored his instincts and suspicious incidents.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: 007 Fest 2020 [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809718
Comments: 37
Kudos: 159
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations, 00Q





	With These Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azure7539](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/gifts).



> written for the Collab Prompt Table and Az, who asked for:
>
>>   
> Bond and Q have officially started their relationship. And even if they have been doing things backwards or hugely out of order, they're determined to take each other out on a date. But nothing ever goes as planned every time, and Bond's had enough.  
> Or: stubbornness, thy name is James bloody Bond.  
> Or: Q is every bit as stubborn as Bond when he gets down to it.  
> 
> 
> The perfect prompt for fluff and humour, wouldn't you say? And yet...  
> Thanks be to dear Souffle, who betaread and offered encouragement to this poor writer who stepped out of her comfort zone. 

James’s anger dissipated when he got his first glimpse of Q that day. 

One hand buried in his mess of hair, he was wearing James’ favourite cardigan and tapping furiously on the screen of his tablet. He looked up when James walked over to him and gave him an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry about this, James! _But_ I’ve just booked us a table at Padella for every night this week, so this date is happening even if I have to-”

James took the tablet and stroked his thumb over the back of Q’s hand. “Hi.” 

Q huffed out a laugh; his eyes smiled behind his glasses as he caught James’ fingers and gave them a squeeze. “Hi.”

The first time it had happened, James thought it was just a coincidence.

It might have been bad luck the second, third and fourth time. 

But to have Q text him about not being able to leave for another couple of hours because of 009 breaking the decontamination shower in Lab 4, _just_ as he was about to head down to Q Branch to pick Q up for their fifth attempt at a date… Well, James Bond didn’t live to retirement age because he ignored his instincts and suspicious incidents. 

It was honestly a bit ridiculous; six months together without a single proper dinner date. And they had laughed about it together at first, but today James had wondered. So he’d gone to hunt down that idiot Jones only to find him in the Q Branch breakroom, drinking tea, nibbling on biscuits, which were carefully arranged on what was unmistakably R’s plate. 

It only took a very slow, cold smile for Jones to all but thrust the biscuits into James’ hands and that told him everything he needed to know. 

Bad luck had nothing to do with the two of them missing their dates.

Q must have sensed the direction his thoughts had taken; he gave him a quizzical look. James tried for a wry smile.

Suddenly, he wasn’t sure how Q was going to take it. For all he knew, this might-

“I’m going to cook for us tonight,” he said to stop himself from finishing the thought. “And we can have _this_ for dessert.” He gestured to the plate of biscuits on Q’s desk and watched him blink rapidly, as he recognised it. 

He added: “Jones donated these.”

Q let go of his hands--suddenly, abruptly, expression darkening. James flexed his fingers.

“Did he?” Q said through gritted teeth, before stalking over to the door and barking: “My office. Now!” 

James watched through the glass wall as R rose from her desk and shuffled in.

Q stared at her for a minute with narrowed eyes. She stood with her chin jutting forward, eyes blazing, studiously ignoring James’ presence in the room. 

He looked at her. He wasn’t sure he’d ever spoken more than two words to her. 

Q had gone to stand behind his desk. Eyes scorching behind his glasses, he took a deep breath. 

“I have no idea what _the fuck_ you thought you were doing, R, but it stops right here, right now.”

She squared her shoulders. “I-” 

“I’m not finished.” Q’s voice cracked like a whip. “You will apologize to 007 and me, and I will _consider_ not putting a note in your personnel file.” 

Q was practically spitting by the time he finished. He took a pause to compose himself and R used the opportunity to interrupt with a loud: “He _strangled_ that man in Cairo!”

Q’s nostrils flared, fists clenched, and James-

James did do that. Charmed, wined and dined him. They’d needed his contacts. Only he'd woken up suddenly and James couldn’t afford the noise of a gunshot. One foot tangled in silk sheets, he’d pressed his thumb against the jugular, and crushed the life out of him and- 

And then he’d returned and put those same hands on Q and felt him shiver. He’d thought it was in pleasure then, but-

“I am your _superior officer_ ,” Q was hissing. James blinked himself back to the present. “If you find yourself unable to comprehend that fact, I will happily make you an appointment with HR to explain the terms of your employment or have it _terminated_ , as you prefer.”

R gasped. 

“Are we clear?” The frost in his voice thawed some of the ice in James’ veins.

R nodded. 

“Very well.” Q jerked his head to the door. “Dismissed.”

“Al-” 

James drew in a sharp breath.

“ _Dis-missed_.”

It… It had been a pretty shit evening after that, which was not improved by James burning the onions he’d meant to caramelize, and making the sauce for the substitute _cacio e pepe_ too thin.

It didn’t help that his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

“Bloody buggering fuck!” he yelled when the ladle slipped and hot pasta water splashed into his face.

And then suddenly Q was there, taking hold of his hands, wiping at the red spot on his cheek. James had to close his eyes; he couldn’t bear to look at him, to see the expression on his face.

“Come here,” he heard and then he was being pushed further into the kitchen, against the sink. James’ eyes flew open when he felt Q’s warm breath on his cheek, followed by a press of cool lips. 

Blood rushed in his ears, roared together with the tap, then wet cotton muffled all noise, and cool rivulets of water sliding down his neck brought him back to the present.

“Hi.” Q gave him a wry smile, linking their fingers after he put the kitchen towel down.

It hurt deep down, in slow, blistering throbs, and James had to fight not to pull away, and just- He huffed out a breath. “Hi.”

Q’s fingers were tracing soothing shapes along his forearm, tickling his palm. James stared at their hands, wet, smudging the gleaming edge of the sink, and pondered the contrast, and the similarities.

Both calloused. Both with nails neatly trimmed. Both with crooked fingers that got broken and were never properly set. But Q’s hands were slender, delicate where his were large and rough and, though there was strength in Q’s fingers, he could never- He would never-

And then Q was raising their hands, pressing a kiss to James’ knuckles in an unbearably careful way, and James had to close his eyes again not to feel reminded of a hotel bathroom in Montenegro. 

He felt old. 

He _was_ old. 

He-

“She knows you.” His voice came out like a croak. He opened his eyes to gauge Q’s reaction. “R.”

She’d almost said a name. James heard her. Saw the protectiveness in her eyes, she must have seen- must have realised-

Q hummed, drawing a circle with feather-light fingertips. “She does. A little. We went through part of our training together and were friendly. But we never bothered to stay in touch after.” His voice darkened. “She had no right.” 

James cleared his throat, fighting to still the tremble in his fingers. 

“I’m not a- I’ve done-” He hesitated. It felt ridiculously trite to voice aloud.

“A good man? Terrible things?” Q finished for him. 

Their eyes met, and suddenly they were leaning their foreheads together, shaking with silent, mad laughter. 

The frame of Q’s glasses pressed against James’ eyebrows. 

“Oh, my love, you have no idea of the things I’d do for you.”


End file.
